


before the sun is rising up

by heaveninbusan



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Blood, Consensual Blood Drinking, Exes to Lovers, Hongjoong is a Pizza Boy, Human Kim Hongjoong, I HAVE NOTHING TO SAY FOR MYSELF, M/M, Not Beta Read, Panic Attacks, Set in America, Vampire Park Seonghwa, Vampires, Wooyoung is a Menace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:07:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27001702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heaveninbusan/pseuds/heaveninbusan
Summary: A little over a month ago, Hongjoong's long-term boyfriend, Seonghwa, ghosted him on the night of their anniversary. He's spent the last five weeks since trying to heal, not expecting to run into him during his job as a delivery boy for his uncle's Miami-based pizza shop.Based on this prompt:When Hongjoong went up to the penthouse of some pretentious apartment building in the richest corner of the city, he didn't suspect that the man who ordered their weird Kiwi Pizza was actually after his blood. And Hongjoong had just foolishly delivered it right to his lair.
Relationships: Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 8
Kudos: 173
Collections: All Hallows ATEEZ Exchange





	before the sun is rising up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Susimau](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Susimau/gifts).



Hongjoong pulls off his baseball cap, swiping a hand through the tangled mass of watermelon red hair, pushing it off his forehead before putting the hat back on. The kitchen is stiflingly hot, his shirt clinging to his back from the sweat. It’s nearing the end of his shift at his uncle’s pizza shop, and he’s ready to get home, strip himself of the un-ironically named Pizza Planet uniform, and enjoy his next two days off. Just another half hour to go, and Hongjoong is counting down the seconds. 

“Are you going home?” Minah, his cousin, asks. She’s a server at Pizza Planet, though mostly she just hangs out in the kitchen and bothers the cooks and her dad, Minchul. 

“Soon,” Hongjoong says, looking up at the clock. He hops up onto the stool next to Minah, swiveling in his seat. “As long as we don’t get any last minute orders.”  
  


“We always do,” Minah says with a roll of her eyes. She spins her stool around in a full circle, the red tips of her hair fanning out around her like a flame. “Hey, whatever happened to that pretty boy who used to pick you up? The tall one.”

Hongjoong deflates. “He was my boyfriend, Meen. For a year. And you still don’t remember his name? And I don’t know. He just ghosted me. Like a month ago.”

Minah stops her spinning, letting out a long hiss. “Sorry. I didn’t know.”

A moment later, Minchul appears through the swinging door into the kitchen, his face an impressive shade of red that’s usually natural for him, though is probably helped along tonight by a few shared drinks with the restaurant patrons. 

“Got one more for ya,” he says, holding up the order ticket. The cook, Rico, who had been slumped against the counter behind Hongjoong, playing some game on his phone, lets out a world-weary sigh, taking the ticket and turning to fridge full of dough. Hongjoong groans, low and long, his head falling onto the cool metal countertop in front of him. Minah laughs.

“Not funny.”

“It’s hilarious, actually,” she chuckles, spinning once more before launching herself off her stool to head back to the dining room. “Time to go lean over the tables suggestively for tips!” Her voice oozes with peppy sarcasm.

“Yah! None of that talk in my kitchen,” says Minchul, taking a few steps after Minah as she scurries away. Then he turns to Hongjoong. “You! You can take this delivery and go straight home if you want. I shut the app down for the night.”

His body feels like concrete as he slides off the barstool. Looking over Rico’s shoulder, Hongjoong checks the order ticket and feels his face slowly slacken with horror. Minchul has already turned to leave but Hongjoong stops him with a yell.

“Hey! Bal Harbour is clear across the city from me! And who the hell orders kiwi pizza? Why is that even on our menu?”

But no amount of whining or pouting or appealing to his uncle’s sense of reason manages to get him out of this last delivery of the night. So when Rico pulls the _disgusting_ kiwi pizza from the oven, Hongjoong begrudgingly slides the piping hot cardboard box into the insulated bag, slinging the strap into the crook of his elbow and drags his feet all the way out the back entrance. 

Though it’s well after sunset, heat sticks to the pavement and the air is somehow muggier than inside next to the ovens. Hongjoong can’t take it anymore, so he carefully slides the pizza onto the passenger’s seat of his little Honda Civic, making sure it stays level so the cheese and offensive slices of kiwi don’t pool on one side. Then he unbuttons the Pizza Planet bowling shirt, tossing it and the matching hat into the back seat. 

The drive to Bal Harbour is a familiar one that Hongjoong has done too many times to count. He takes the highway, fingers tapping over his steering wheel to the beat of Cuban punk band We Bite!!! pouring through his stereo. The view is usually beautiful, even at night, as he crosses the bridge over the Biscayne Bay, but tonight he can’t shake Minah’s words out of his head. It’s not as though she said anything particularly haunting to him, but he’d been trying to beat the image of Seonghwa from his mind for weeks now, and just as he thought it started getting easier, Minah had to go and remind him again. 

He can’t fight the memories of Seonghwa’s soothing voice, the gentleness of his hands, the soft press of their lips together. Hongjoong’s heart pounds, and he turns up the music to drown out the sound of its beating. 

Bal Harbour sits at the northern tip of its island, little more than a strip of sand decorated with resorts and million dollar high rises. The address on Hongjoong’s delivery ticket is one such apartment building, made of glittering glass and stark, modern lines. He pulls the car into the circular driveway, parking in the guest area. He checks the order ticket again for the address, and if he didn’t think this place was pretentious before, the addition of _North Tower_ tips him over the edge. 

The _North Lobby_ is decorated in a generic, modern, neutral “style” with shades of grey and beige on every surface, a glass case of yellow-hued sculptural art lining one wall. With his torn jeans and scuffed combat boots, he feels out of place and little grubby, and wonders what it is that Mr Jung Woo Young does for a living that he can afford to live like this. Right before the elevator bank, a doorman is stationed behind a sleek white desk, his face pale and drawn, still in a way that has Hongjoong’s hackles raised, though he can’t exactly pinpoint why.

When the doorman doesn’t say anything, Hongjoong clears his throat. Raising the pizza bag up a little, he says, “I have a delivery? For a Mr Jung?”

The doorman stares at him, unblinking, and with a start, Hongjoong realizes he has silver eyes hiding behind the dark bangs falling past his brow. The man rises from his chair without a word, the heels of his dress shoes clicking against the tiled floor as he makes his way toward Hongjoong. Hongjoong’s heart accelerates, catching in his throat, and he’s sure, so sure, the man is going to do something to him. Something deep and primal inside his body tells him to run, but it doesn’t communicate to his body and he remains there, feet planted firmly on the ground.

But the doorman simply turns away, pressing a code into the pad beside the elevator doors. They ding open, and the doorman steps to the side, nodding at Hongjoong to go in.

Hongjoong can’t move fast enough, ready to put as much distance as he can between himself and the weirdo in the lobby. The doors close behind him and he lets out a sigh of relief, heart still hammering. Once he’s alone, surrounded by shiny chrome and generic elevator music, he laughs, his breath stuttering a little. He probably looked insane while that guy was just trying to do his job.

He watches the numbers above the doors light up with each passing floor, as the smell of mozzarella and kiwi fills the small car around him. The elevator slows down at level 14, the doors parting, and he steps out without thinking… right into the entryway of an apartment.

_What the hell?_

Something is obviously very wrong. The doorman must have sent him to the wrong place. He turns to go back, but the doors shut, and instead of a call button, there’s another pin pad identical to the one in the lobby. A real wave of panic washes over him and this time he can’t ignore it or brush it off because _he’s in someone’s fucking apartment_ and he will probably lose his job over this. Or get his ass kicked. Or both.

He’s just contemplating whether the nearest window has a fire escape (it doesn’t) when he hears someone approaching from around the corner. 

“I think your dinner’s here,” the voice calls out, preceding its owner by just a few seconds. He rounds the corner and comes to a halt, eyes squinting as they flit between Hongjoong’s face and the delivery bag at his side. “Wooyoung _what_ did you do!?” He practically shouts as he turns away, gone as fast as he came, leaving just the impression of fox-like features and a streak of white hair.

“What are you doing here?”

The voice startles Hongjoong nearly out of his skin, his blood gone cold in his veins. He knows that voice, knows the face he’ll see if he turns to look in its direction. It’s a voice he used to hear every day, a voice that filled him with warmth and comfort, that sounded like home. But now all he feels is icy anger. “You,” he _growls,_ unused to hearing his own voice sound this way. 

Hongjoong turns to finally face him—Seonghwa, his boyfriend, or his ex, if he wants to get technical. His boyfriend of a year before Seonghwa just disappeared. They were supposed to be meeting at their favorite restaurant to celebrate their anniversary, and shame still weighs heavily in Hongjoong’s gut whenever he thinks about how sad and pathetic he must have looked, waiting alone at their table for a date who never showed. 

Seeing Seonghwa’s face after five weeks of silence is not the relief Hongjoong thought it would be. All the parts of him that were filled with grief and mourning and then healing are now entirely composed of anger.

“Hongjoong, I—please. What are you doing here?” Seonghwa’s voice drops into a whisper, and for some reason Hongjoong gets the sense that he’s _afraid._ And he should be, because he’s a coward.

“What am _I_ doing here? I’m leaving.”

“Hongjoong, wait—are you not a Donor? What is going on here?”

“What is a--you know what? I don’t want to know. I just want to get out of here.” He turns to the elevator doors, not entirely sure how he’s going to leave without knowing the code for the pin pad, but he’s ready to try everything, including jamming every number until he can escape.

“No, wait.”

Hongjoong pauses, feeling a shockingly cold hand on his arm. Seonghwa was just on the other side of the room, but Hongjoong didn’t hear any footsteps across the shiny tiled floor. He rips his arm out of Seonghwa’s grasp, turning to face him again. 

“I’ve already done a lot of waiting for you, Seonghwa.” He means for it to be angry and cold but vulnerability slips out between the cracks and he could kick himself for it.

“I’m sorry,” Seonghwa starts, taking a small step closer to Hongjoong like he would an injured, cornered animal. And that’s almost exactly how Hongjoong feels. “I can explain everything. But please, just—come with me, okay? My roommates… they have really good hearing.”

Hongjoong doesn’t know what the hell he’s supposed to say to that. 

He suddenly remembers the pizza he’s supposed to be delivering, bag hanging heavy from his arm. Part of him wants to lash out some more, unleash all the pent up anger and betrayal he’s been holding in with no outlet for weeks. But another, maybe even stronger part of him wants to reach out to Seonghwa too. 

“What do I do with this?” is all he can come up with.

“I.. I don’t know. None of us can eat it. Here.” Seonghwa reaches out again with more confident hands this time, taking the bag from Hongjoong without meeting his eyes. “I’ll figure it out later. Just come with me.”

_Come with me._ Hongjoong grimaces at the words, remembering how they used to sound on Seonghwa’s lips. Self-assured, promising, a little mischievous. The last thing he’d say before dragging Hongjoong on some adventure. And no matter what it was, something huge like a week-long road trip up the coast, or something small like simply going for ice cream—Seonghwa made it an adventure.

But this time when he says it, it’s more like a plea. And Hongjoong doesn’t know what to do with it.

“We can talk right here,” he says, pulling together any resolve he might have. 

Seonghwa sighs, a muscle at his jaw fluttering in a way that Hongjoong recognizes to be frustration. “Fine,” he says. And for a while that’s all he says, his brow furrowed as he stares at the ground, like he’s trying to make a decision. 

Hongjoong grows impatient. He can’t deny the tiny spark that lit at the sight of Seonghwa’s face, but now he’s not saying anything and Hongjoong is growing increasingly annoyed. Seonghwa asked _him_ to listen but now he’s not talking? The urge to _flee_ takes over.

“Look if you’re not gonna—”

“Hongjoong, I’m a vampire.”

Their words come out at the same time and it takes a second or two for Hongjoong to process what Seonghwa had just said. He pressed the heels of his hands against his closed eyes, heaving out a sigh. “You don’t have to do this Seonghwa. You don’t have to act like an ass. You could just let me leave and we’ll both pretend we never met, okay?”

“Hongjoong, you don’t understand.”

He thinks he understands perfectly, though. That every moment they shared together over the last year was a total farce, and now Seonghwa seems to just enjoy hurting him. He understands perfectly that he’s not worth Seonghwa’s respect. He couldn’t break up with him properly, and now this--whatever this is.

Hongjoong turns away, pressing his forehead to the cool metal of the elevator doors. If he knew his day was going to end like this, he’d have stayed home in bed. 

“Just tell me the code and let me go.”

“Only if you look at me first.”

Hongjoong sighs again, feeling the familiar ache in his throat signaling tears, and he can’t do that. Not here, not in front of Seonghwa. He tries to remember how he felt that night that Seonghwa ghosted him, how it felt to find his number blocked, Seonghwa’s family turning him away. All that fear turned to grief, wondering what he did wrong. 

“Just let me go.”

“ _Look_ at me!”

Hongjoong does, because it’s the only thing left standing in his way of running the hell out of that apartment and away from Seonghwa and everything he represents, but when he fixes his eyes on Seonghwa’s face what he finds there nearly levels him to the ground.

“So you’re really dedicated to this…” Hongjoong says. He can’t look away from the shiny white fangs Seonghwa bares to him, delicately pointed and almost too subtle to notice. 

“They’re real, Hongjoong.”

“Clearly. I’ve heard of this before, but I thought all you weirdos lived in New Orleans and camped outside of Anne Rice’s house.” A numb kind of shock pours over him like water, starting at his crown and trickling down to his toes until he can’t feel anything at all. How is his luck bad enough that he really thought he fell in love with someone who turns out to be a paranormal obsessed freak to _filed his teeth_ for the aesthetic. Maybe it was okay that Seonghwa left him after all.

Distantly, Hongjoong wondered how much therapy he was going to need after this.

“Okay I’ve looked at you, you can let me go now. And no, I’m not joining your weird cult.”

Seonghwa sighs, looking down at his feet and clearly trying to calm himself down. “Hongjoong,” he says--he keeps saying Hongjoong’s name like it will change anything, give more meaning to his words. “I’m not--I don’t _think_ I’m a vampire. I--here, let me show you.”

Seonghwa lifts his hand to his mouth and a million different thoughts fly through Hongjoong’s mind at the speed of light. Before he can grasp one and try to make sense of what he’s seeing, Seonghwa sinks his teeth into his own wrist and pulls away just as quickly. His lips are slick and shiny with fresh blood, and more of it drips from his newly punctured skin. 

Seonghwa takes a step forward and Hongjoon tries to back away, heart hammering so loudly he can’t hear anything above the rush of his own pulse in his ears. But Seonhwa’s face is gentle, and he approaches Hongjoong with his hands raised, wrist offered like an olive branch to Hongjoong. 

Hongjoong can’t breathe. He’s not sure what he just witnessed but if Seonghwa is bleeding this badly then he clearly needs help--even if he’s trying to mentally torture Hongjoong at the moment. He takes Seonghwa’s hand in his own--Seonghwa’s skin is pale white and icy cold under his touch--and turns it over, inspecting the wound.

“I--What? You were just--where did it go?”

There’s no wound at all and now Hongjoong’s head is swimming. He drops Seonghwa’s hand like it’s on fire and suddenly finds that his legs don’t quite work properly anymore. He slides down to the ground, back against the wall and hangs his head between his bent knees, struggling for air. 

“Seonghwa what the fuck is going on?” he asks, breath faint and voice rattling.

He knows a panic attack when he feels one, all too familiar with the sensation of anxiety overtaking all of his senses. The tips of his fingers tingle and nausea swells in his gut. This used to happen all of the time, about six months ago as he was getting ready to graduate from college, and the stress would overwhelm him. Back then, Seonghwa would be there for him, rubbing gentle circles into his back, whispering soft reassurances into his ear, holding him until the tidal wave of fear and panic and suffocation finally ebbed. 

A moment later Hongjoong feels it… and maybe Seonghwa’s hands are a little colder than they used to be, but they’re reaching all the same places, ruffling his hair, tickling his forearm. Seonghwa wraps his arm around Hongjoong’s shoulders and quietly shushes him, pressing their foreheads together like he used to do. Hongjoong clings to him, his chest tight but Seonghwa’s touch so familiar. He lets himself be held for what feels like forever, a tiny, timeless pocket of space with just the two of them alone in the entryway. 

“Are you okay?”

Hongjoong can’t say how much time has passed between falling to the floor and Seonghwa’s words now breaking the fragile silence. He does an internal check; his breathing is shaky but back to normal, his heart has slowed down, and his hands have finally stopped trembling. He takes in a deep, full breath and finally lifts his head up again, squinting against the overhead lights.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” Seonghwa says before Hongjoong can answer his question. He pushes the hair off Hongjoong’s forehead and their eyes meet. Seonghwa’s face is a mask of concern, and the same deep well of love it had always been. Before he left. “I couldn’t think of any other way to prove it to you.”

A part of Hongjoong knows he should be upset about this, but it’s like his body and his heart are acting on their own will. Seonghwa’s presence comforts him, it always has, and his voice is calming, soothing. All the anger from earlier has melted away with the panic attack and now all he feels is relief. He’s _missed_ Seonghwa, and though he has absolutely no idea what is going on or how his life took this unpredictable turn, he’s strangely feeling okay with it. 

Maybe’s it’s just shock--but maybe it could be the unconditional way they used to care for each other. Seonghwa soothing him through the panic. Hongjoong anchoring Seonghwa in place when the world got to be too much for him. They’ve supported each other, they’ve loved each other, and Hongjoong can’t ignore that history.

“Tell me what happened,” he says.

Seonghwa nods, lifting himself from the floor and reaching a cold, pale hand out to Hongjoong. “Come with me,” he repeats, and this time Hongjoong takes his hand.

Seonghwa leads him deeper into the apartment. It’s nicely decorate with expensive furnishings, but Hongjoong notices small details here and there that hint to the fact that its occupants are not entirely normal. The steel shutters lining the windows that he assumes black out the light. The noticeable lack of kitchen space. Not a single mirror lines the walls, not even in the small washroom they pass along a long stretch of corridor. 

Seeing Seonghwa’s bedroom is a rush of emotion that Hongjoong didn’t expect. It smells like him. It feels like him, with it’s clean lines and blueish palette. There are pictures of Seonghwa’s friends and family on the dresser--including pictures of the two of them together. Two enormous watercolor portraits of a black-haired girl hang over the bed, and one of the walls is entirely glass, giving a breathtaking nighttime view of the ocean below them. 

Hongjoong sinks into the plush armchair beside the bed, because he’s not sure what else he should do. The bed is made with neat precision, and Seonghwa perches himself on the edge, facing him. 

“I was on my way to meet you, when it happened,” Seonghwa says, and for a moment Hongjoong isn’t sure what he means. And then it clicks. He sits up in his seat, eyes on Seonghwa’s face, though he’s looking away, at his hands fidgeting in his lap. “I never wanted to leave you. I was coming--and I’m so sorry. But I’ve been so afraid--of you seeing me differently. Or what if the one who did this to me comes back and sees you?”

Hongjoong’s heart breaks a little. He can hear the pain in Seonghwa’s voice as it cracks at the end of his question. “Just start from the beginning, Hwa.”

“Okay.” He takes a deep breath before continuing on. “I parked out back because the restaurant was packed. The lights weren’t on--I think they were broken. Anyway, I was headed inside when someone just… snatched me. And then it was just pain. They bit me a few times while I was trying to fight them off, but in the end they got to my neck. They left me to die, right next to the restaurant dumpsters.”

Seonghwa still won’t look at Hongjoong, but when he tilts his face up to the ceiling to let out a long stream of breath, Hongjoong catches the tears sliding down his face. They’re a watery red, and shocking, but Hongjoong decides right then that he doesn’t care. The thought of Seonghwa lying just feet away that entire time, struggling to stay alive... The dam breaks in Hongjoong as well, and he rises from his seat, pulling Seonghwa into his arms.

Seonghwa stiffens for just a second, like he isn’t sure what to do. But then he melts, wrapping his arms around Hongjoong’s waist. Hongjoong breathes in the scent of his hair, fresh and clear like sunshine and ocean water and Hongjoong wonders at it, how someone who is presumably stuck in the darkness could emanate such light. But for now he has a more pressing question.

“You said they left you to die… but you’re here.”

“That’s where San and Wooyoung come in,” Seonghwa answers, voice muffled in the fabric of Hongjoong’s shirt. “Wooyoung is a total menace but he saved my life.”

“How?”

While Seonghwa explains, Hongjoong extricates himself from their embrace and moves to the bed beside him. He never stops touching Seonghwa--holding his hands, or running his fingers up and down Seonghwa’s arms, pushing strands of hair behind his ears--not through the whole story of Wooyoung finding him there, almost at sunrise, deciding there’s only one way to save him. Seonghwa’s voice gets watery as he relives the story of drinking from Wooyoung’s wrist, following him home and just barely beating the sun. Meeting San, who nursed him through the painful days after, bringing him blood Donors and holding him down during fits of agony and hunger. 

“So it was San I saw when I first got here.”

“Yes.”

“And were they the ones who… you know, told you stop contacting me?” Hongjoong blushes a little with shame at sounding so pathetic. But he has to know. He has to understand.

“No, no, not at all.” Seonghwa takes his hand, lacing their fingers together. “I was afraid. We still don’t know who attacked me that night, and I didn’t want anything like that to happen to you. And of course, I wasn’t sure how you’d react to seeing me this way.” He gestures to himself, around the room.

“I have to admit at first I thought you were just messing with me. Or that you were crazy. But now I think I get it. I don’t know if I’d do the same, but I get it.”

“I really am sorry,” says Seonghwa. He reaches a hand up to cup Hongjoong’s face, thumb smoothing over his cheekbone. “You didn’t deserve it, you should never feel the way I made you feel.”

Hongjoong savors it for a moment, leaning into Seonghwa’s touch. His mind is a rollercoaster of emotions and thoughts, mildly horrified that any of this is happening in his life right now, but full of such immense relief and _comfort_ at having Seonghwa back. He can’t hold back anymore, leaning in closer and pulling Seonghwa by the shirt to catch his lips in a kiss. It’s tentative at first, but then Seonghwa smiles against him, and it’s like the last five weeks never happened. 

“What’s a donor?” he asks after they pull apart, his heart feeling lighter than it has in a long while.

“Oh, that.” Seonghwa holds his hand like it’s an anchor. “A Donor is a person, a human, who volunteers their blood.”

“You bite them?”

“Well, no. We really _should_ drink right from the source, but there’s a window of time where the blood is still… good. So we extract it, with a needle and tube, and drink it that way.”

“So how did I end up here tonight?”

Seonghwa laughs and it’s somewhere between exasperated and amused. “There’s an app. Like DoorDash. You just… place an order. It sounds terrible but that’s what we use. Wooyoung must have made a mistake. But the best mistake he could have possibly made.” 

Hongjoong smiles, letting himself get pulled back into Seonghwa’s arms. It’s like they’re making up for these lost weeks, holding onto each other, relishing every point of contact. Hongjoong presses their lips together again, mind quieting for a moment before remembering _why_ he was here in the first place.

“Don’t you have to eat? Feed? I don’t know what to call it,” he laughs.

“It can wait. I don’t want to let you go just yet.”

“You could drink from me,” Hongjoong says, feeling his cheeks warm. “Or would it hurt too much?”

“It won’t hurt… It only hurt me because they wanted it to hurt me. But I wouldn’t hurt you.” There’s something in Seonghwa’s tone that Hongjoong can’t figure out, like there’s something he’s not saying.

“What is it?”

“Well, it’s just that, I don’t have any tools to take blood so I’d have to bite, and it will have an affect on you.” He looks down in his lap and it suddenly clicks in Hongjoong’s head what he means.

“You’ve never been shy before,” he laughs. 

“I know, I know, but this is different.” Seonghwa’s smile is wide and Hongjoong has the feeling that if he were capable of doing so, he’d be blushing from his neck to his ears. 

“Different how?”

“It’s--it’s a lot. It will be a lot for you.” 

Hongjoong takes it as a challenge. “I want to try,” he says, positioning himself closer to Seonghwa, almost in his lap.

“Slow down,” Seonghwa says. Hongjoong would take it as a stinging rejection if Seonghwa didn’t ease his words with a kiss right afterwards. “Come here.”

In the silence between heartbeats, Hongjoong moves from the edge of the bed to gently placed among the pillows. The show of strength and speed is enough to remind him that Seonghwa is different now, even if he feels the same pressed up against him, their lips meeting over and over. But Hongjoong somehow loves it, and heat licks up from his belly to his chest. Seonghwa kisses him slowly, deliberately, like he wants Hongjoong to pay close attention. And he does, letting the pressure of Seonghwa’s lips and tongue take over all of him. 

Seonghwa’s hands reach under Hongjoong’s shirt and he gasps at the cold, but soon finds that the doesn’t hate it at all. The contrast against the heat of his own skin drives him wild and he opens his mouth further to let Seonghwa in, opening his legs too, for Seonghwa to slide a thigh between them. 

It’s all so much, Seonghwa filling his senses after weeks of a drought. He never thought he’d do this again but there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. 

As their kissing grows more urgent, Seonghwa moving from Hongjoong’s mouth to his jaw to his neck, Hongjoong grows ever more desperate. He snakes his hand between them, sliding down to the waistband of Seonghwa’s jeans, but Seonghwa tenses, pulling away.

“What’s the matter?” Hongjoong asks, his voice raspy.

“I can’t, um, do that anymore.” 

Hongjoong pauses, thinking. He doesn’t really know how the whole vampire thing works; he’s got plenty of time to learn. But rom what he’s read or seen in the movies at least, vampires are _dead_ and there’s no blood flow. So it makes sense. If vampires in the real world could make any sense. 

“So then…”

“The bite’s enough. Really,” Seonghwa says, a small smile on his lips. They’re glossy from their kissing, but there’s no blush on his face, they’re not any redder than normal, or swollen. 

“Do you want to bite me?” Hongjoong never thought he’d be saying these words in this order, but images flash through his head, and it does nothing but make the tightness of his pants even more difficult to ignore.

“Do you still want me to?”

“Yes.” The word comes out as a sigh and Seonghwa catches it, swallowing it down as their lips meet again. 

Hongjoong whimpers as Seonghwa’s lips once again travel along his jaw and neck, and he grasps Seonghwa’s shoulders, nails digging in. It feels like Seonghwa’s hands are everywhere at all once, using his unnatural speed to flick over Hongjoong’s nipple rings and less than a second later grab onto the meaty tops of his thighs and push him further into the mattress underneath them. 

“Are you ready?” Seonghwa whispers into his neck, his cool breath sending a shiver down Hongjoong’s spine. Hongjoong can only nod, his voice failing him as he slowly grinds his hips along Seonghwa’s thigh, chasing friction. 

He has just a moment to wonder if it will hurt before he learns that yes, it will. For a moment everything tunnels down to two piercing bolts in his neck and he lets out a strangled cry. But then heat, searing, fiery heat, pours through him starting at the bite.

He’s never felt anything like _this_ before. Like the snapping moment of an orgasm when it all comes pouring out of him, except it’s his whole body, and it never ends. Chills roll through him, shaking his body and his pulse pounds loudly in his ears. Seonghwa’s hands are a steadying force, holding him still as he writhes, scrabbling for purchase, tearing at Seonghwa’s clothing. He’s dimly aware of his own voice, letting out strings of slurred words that hardly make sense to his own ears. 

Seonghwa pulls off, gasping into Hongjoong’s ear. “Good?” he asks, his voice dark and edged with mischief. Hongjoong whines in response, head foggy and body shaking. “I’m not done.” And a breath later, Seonghwa is sinking his teeth into another delicate, fragile expanse of unmarked skin along Hongjoong’s throat. 

The roiling pleasure overtakes him again and again as Seonghwa stops to add puncture after puncture across Hongjoong’s neck. He feels himself coming closer to the edge, desperately grinding himself against Seonghwa until it’s too much. Seonghwa rolls his hips in response, one hand reaching down to palm at Hongjoong. Hongjoong comes with tears in his eyes and Seonghwa’s name on his lips.

He collapses against the pillows, all the strength in his body wiped out. For once there are no thoughts or worries buzzing in his head like static. Instead it’s Seonghwa’s fresh, watering scent, and the distant sensation of Seonghwa licking at the fresh wounds he’s just created. Hongjoong’s neck aches and tingles, the rest of his body slack and almost numb. When Seonghwa said it would be a lot, he wasn’t expecting this.

“How are you?” Seonghwa’s face is above him, light shining behind him and glowing like a halo. He’s smiling fully, color blushing his cheeks and darkening his lips. He looks almost human again.

Hongjoong can’t find words for how he feels, so he slips his arms around Seonghwa’s neck and pulls him in for another kiss. Seonghwa’s mouth tastes coppery and tangy with Hongjoong’s blood but he doesn’t even care. He just wants Seonghwa close.

Exhaustion hits him then, all at once like a truck. He’s not sure he could even open his eyes, much less stand or have any more conversation with Seonghwa, whether it was about the weather or the magic of vampire bites. He just wants sleep now, something that usually eludes him. 

“I need to clean you up. Don’t fall asleep.”

A second later, Seonghwa is gone, but then back just as quickly. Hongjoong hardly holds onto consciousness as he’s helped into a set of fresh, clean clothes, and laid back down on the bed, this time under the blanket. 

“Stay with me?”

“Don’t worry. I’m not leaving you ever again.”


End file.
